


turns, both solo and ensemble

by anthropologicalhands



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boy Band, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 02:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15595737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthropologicalhands/pseuds/anthropologicalhands
Summary: A general collection of prompt fills and oneshots





	1. josh, whijo, hector & nathaniel - a boyband au

**Author's Note:**

> for a prompt for a boyband au. starring our very own guy group! you can find the related headcanons on [tumblr](http://anthropologicalhands.tumblr.com/post/170294073140/b-o-y-b-a-n-d-au-just-kidding-i-wouldnt-inflict).

“I still think we can try  _A Boyband Made Up of Four Joshes_  live,” said Josh, guileless as ever. “It could totally work!”

“Dude, no one on that stage wants to listen to you sing in harmony with yourself,” said White Josh, arranging his shell necklace in the vanity mirror.

“Which is why you’d be singing the other part, obviously. It can be a double act!”

“And where would that leave me?” demanded Hector from the other corner of the dressing room, surrounded by branded baseball caps. “You guys are terrible. Since Greg left, I’ve been losing leverage with you guys.”

White Josh turned to him. “What are you talking about? I always side with  _you_ ,” he said, incredulous.

“Really? You think? Because I don’t remember agreeing to  _glittery boardshorts_.”

He gestured downwards at what should have been a fairly ordinary part of navy boardshorts, except that the patterns of waves had been carefully outlined with glitter glue. The Joshes’ own shorts were equally sparkly, but in their respective signature colors.

“Oh. Yeah,” White Josh pulled a face. “But once Darryl gets an idea in his head there’s no stopping him. You know how excited he gets about costumes.”

“Plus, we’re in a boy band. Glitter is pretty much part of the deal,” Josh pointed out, shrugging. He inspected himself in the full length mirror, twisting around to check the back of his outfit. “Do you think it’s enough? I don’t wanna look patchy under the lights.”

“Josh, dude, it’s glitter. If it’s not everywhere now, in two minutes it will be. And in two months, it will  _still_  be everywhere.”

There was a sharp rap at the dressing room door and Nathaniel Plimpton stuck his head into the room.

“All right, everyone stop talking about dumb stuff, you’re on call in ten minutes.”

“We’ll be right there!” said Josh, giving Nathaniel thumbs up and a sunny smile.

Nathaniel looked unimpressed. White Josh rolled his eyes at his reflection, adjusting the hem of his tank top while Hector sighed and put on the baseball cap at an appropriately jaunty angle. No point in being picky –like White Josh’s shirt, it would be gone by intermission anyway.

“You have ten minutes. Don’t stop to change the water cooler,” said Nathaniel. “Last time you cut it way too close.”

“Dude, relax,” said White Josh, turning away from the mirror. “We’ll get him on the stage on time if we have to carry him.”

“Good.”

“Hey!” protested Josh, but everyone ignored him.

Nathaniel checked his phone. “Darryl’s introducing you, as you already know, I presume—”

“Yep, he’s only texted me like, three times,” said White Josh. “He keeps rewriting the skit.”

“As long as he keeps it under a minute, it should be fine. I’m handing you off to Maya—she’ll get you to the stage.”

From behind Nathaniel, the group could just make out Maya the stagehand on her tiptoes, giving a little wave.

“That’s a pleasant surprise,” said White Josh. “Producer Plimpton actually doesn’t feel the need to supervise our every move? You’re actually trusting us to find our way to the stage without supervision?”

“Not remotely, I just have a bigger fire to put out. Paula Proctor sent in a revised set list, and I doubt that any song called  _Murder is Always An Option_  is going to be considered network-friendly. So, if you excuse me, I have to hash it out with Rebecca Bunch.”

As one, the WC BBoyz cringed.

“Dude, good luck,” said White Josh, utterly sincere.


	2. darryl - music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt "music"

At one point shortly after Darryl started dating White Josh, he was introduced to J-pop by a well-intentioned but naïve Josh Chan, and for the next several weeks the employees of the Whitefeather & Associates were subjected to an expansive medley of songs that played on repeat throughout the office, to their great consternation.

It wasn’t the music itself that anyone found objectionable –variety alone made it an objectively better listening experience than Darryl’s brief-but-intense love affair with Rick Astley two years back. The main drawback was the fact that many of the songs often had a line or two of English intermixed with the Japanese lyrics, usually in the chorus, and therefore instead of just humming the tunes, Darryl kept singing those sections whenever he was away from his desk.

The same lyrics.

Over and over and  _over_ again.

Headphones became a standard accessory at every desk, with varying degrees of effectiveness.

Everyone knew it would get out of his system. Eventually. It was just a question of how long this new obsession would last—since it was an entire genre, their usual estimations were off.

Some employees still placed bets, not only for when it would be over, but what band would appear on his playlist next. Mrs. Hernandez managed the betting pool; she had an uncanny knack for predicting when one band cycle would end and the next one would start.

(There was a side betting pool run by Paula about whether Mrs. Hernandez’s predictions would be off–it was quite lucrative.)

Darryl was blissfully unaware of any of the new undercurrents among his employees, and continued to indulge in his music tastes, wherever they took him.

“Mrs. Hernandez!” he chirped, bounding up to her desk, right on schedule. “I have some good news.”

Mrs. Hernandez raised her eyebrows at him, which Darryl took as encouragement to keep explaining.

“I have a new song repertoire to share with you! Ken Hirai.”

Mrs. Hernandez’s eyebrows flattened; the betting pool would need to be adjusted to take solo artists into consideration.

“I know everyone was getting a little tired of Arashi,” Darryl continued, oblivious, “So I went looking for something a bit different. He’s more R&B:  _very_ pleasant listening experience. And his music videos are great! If you want, I’m happy to send you a link.”

Mrs Hernandez raised her eyes heavenwards.

Taking the gesture for acquiescence, Darryl beamed at her one last time before continuing down to his office, the new lyrics that would be haunting the space for the next two weeks already filling the common space.

“I want to be a  _pop_  star, la la la  _la_  lahhhhhhh—”

Mrs. Hernandez could only shake her head, the action of actually vocalizing her disgust to be too much to deal with at this particular moment. Darryl had hardly stepped into his office before she was fishing out her soundproof headphones, settling the cushioned cups firmly over her ears and opening iTunes on her computer and selecting  _Church of Misery_.

If they were going with Japanese popular music around here, she preferred heavy metal.


	3. valencia & rebecca - a flash of anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt "a flash of anger". takes place after the party in 3.09.

Valencia thinks— _thinks_  she has it under control. Yoga might not be her passion, but it’s taught her plenty of tricks over the years that she’s been cashing in over this last year.

Right now, she is using all of them, trying not to think about how this is the second event that’s gone completely awry, that she’s going to be lucky if she sees anything from it, much luckier if she avoids any social media fallout, and how one of her best friends is the very reason for it.

Valencia has never been one to hide her displeasure, but there’s something murky and complicated about the feelings roiling in her right now, and she just wants to get rid of all traces of this evening first before she even begins to tap into them.

If only Rebecca would recognize that.

“So,” starts Rebecca, in that chirpy, too-cheerful voice she always uses when she knows she’s in the wrong. “The lederhosen is a pretty awesome look, actually. I think we could probably recycle some of this theme into the next one, maybe a  _Sound of Music_  style thing—”

“Rebecca,  _not now_ ,” she grits out.

She can see from the corner of her eye that Heather, behind the counter, look up and retreat to the backroom without a word or dry comment. Good, she’ll remember to thank her later. This doesn’t concern Heather, it concerns her and Rebecca. She’s angry, she has every right to be angry, and she also doesn’t particularly want to be angry, and she just needs a minute to just let herself reflect—

“Valencia, you are completely right to be angry with me. I had no right to do that. I just wanted—”

“Yes. You wanted. You didn’t even think about what I wanted. What I needed. Rebecca, I  _needed_  this to be a success.”

Every  _single_  time she gets close to getting what she wants,  _something_  has thwarted it. Most times, it was beyond her control –she’s accepted that her and Josh’s relationship was already half-rotted to begin with. And when ran away from his and Rebecca’s wedding, well, it’s not the like wedding itself made him run away, but it didn’t look good. It was easy to be angry at Josh, that was righteous anger.

And now this. She’s trying to be a better person, a nicer person. She wanted to help Rebecca the way Rebecca has tried to help her in the past. She wanted to trust Rebecca.

But  _every time_. It’s like the kiss and the dress incident all over again, and even knowing that Rebecca wasn’t in the best headspace, is struggling to stay in that space right now, isn’t quelling her anger.

“I know,” says Rebecca in a tiny voice. “Valencia, I’m so sorry.”

She doesn’t try to justify herself, which okay, that’s good, she has no right to do that—

But just as bad as being the cause of Valencia’s anger is that Rebecca looks small, not meeting her eyes, biting her lip, taking Valencia’s anger as she knows she deserves it. And she does.

She  _does_.

But the flash of anger is gone as quickly as it flared, leaving only a cold knot in her stomach, and Valencia suddenly feels tired. It takes so much energy to be angry, and the split between feeling guilty about yelling at Rebecca and being completely-and-totally-in-the-right  _furious_  is giving her a headache.

Old Valencia would have snapped out with just the right words to cut someone down to size. New Valencia doesn’t want to do that, but she needs to do  _something_.

She rubs her hands over her face, dragging them down until they cover her mouth, and takes a deep, slow breath, and exhales through her fingers. Then, she lowers them, still clasped, and looks at Rebecca.

“I will forgive you,” she says, as calmly as she can. “But I don’t think we should work together again.”

Rebecca’s shoulders jump, tensing together, and she sucks a breath through her teeth. “Yeah, of course,” she says, her voice pitched just a little too-high, a tremble at the edge. “I totally get it.”

“Good,” Valencia gives a tight little nod, because she suspects any larger gesture, and she might actually burst into tears. It’s a lot of emotions to be cycling through at once.

Paula was right when she said female friendships were strange.

She turns around to gather up a stack of empty trays, to carry them back to Heather.

“Hey Valencia,” says Rebecca, and Valencia turns around to find the other woman suddenly much closer. “Why don’t you go home? It’s pretty late and you have stuff to do; I can take care of this. Just—just go home and rest.”

She tugs the trays out of Valencia’s hands, not quite meeting her eyes. Valencia’s hands are left open and empty, hovering between them.

“Oh,” says Valencia. She tightens her hands and lets them fall to her sides, takes a deep breath to strengthen her spine, not sure if she’s trying to hold on to her anger or push it further away. “If you insist. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good,” says Rebecca, addressing the trays in her hands. She seems to want to say more, but gives a quick shake of the head and retreats to the back room, leaving Valencia alone in the empty bar.

Valencia gathers her purse and satchel, trying to keep the sinking feeling at bay, imagining the bath she can draw for herself for tonight, and the bottle of rose waiting at home.

She only makes it two steps out of Homebase before she has to lean against the outside wall, taking deep, slow breaths.

Being angry never used to be this exhausting.

 


	4. valencia & nathaniel - the perils of rafting rides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because they've learned to be softer doesn't mean they have entirely lost their edges; Valencia and Nathaniel bond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place during a vacation in some happy point far in the future where everyone hangs out with each other and voluntarily agree to spend quality time at close quarters. Or an alternate universe: really it’s just an excuse. beth/valencia, rebecca/nathaniel

It’s no Raging Waters, but Great America is still a good time.

Rebecca and Beth have claimed a ride on the Rip Roaring Rapids, while Valencia and Nathaniel, both having given very vocal opposition to the very idea of going into a water ride themselves, lounge in the outdoor seating area towards the end of the rafting course, waiting for their respective significant others to complete the ride and disembark.

Valencia has her selfie stick out, phone set to record, while Nathaniel works on his phone, occasionally leaning out of the camera eye to avoid getting in Valencia’s shot.

“Hey everyone! New update from our Northern Californian adventure: Beth and Rebecca are currently trying out the Rip Roaring Rapids, because neither of them can ever resist the chance to get wet.”

“I don’t know if Instagram will let you to say that.”

“They know what I mean,” says Valencia without skipping a beat. “Our girls just got on the ride about two minutes ago, so they should be coming down the bend any minute now,” Valencia leans forward to pan across the expectant churn of the water course. “And we’re going to be here to wave them on!”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Nathaniel doesn’t look up from his phone screen. “I thought we were—”

“ _Not yet,_ Nathaniel,” says Valencia, smile still fixed on her face for the recording. “ _Don’t_ spoil the surprise for our viewers.”

“Who’s going to watch this?”

Valencia slants him an annoyed glare. “I have plenty of viewers who follow these status updates,  _thank you very much_. And the rest of the group will love it too when we meet up later.”

“Darryl and White Josh are not about to sit down and watch what we were doing while they were off pretending not to make goo-goo eyes at each other in the kiddie area.”

Valencia adjusts the grip at the end of her selfie stick so that the screen isn’t tilting at a diagonal. “Do you really think Darryl  _wouldn’t_  be all up in this when we show it to him?”

Nathaniel considers it for a moment.

“Probably not,” he concedes.

“Exactly. You ready?”

“I said I’d do it, didn’t I?”

“Perfect. You know, camera shyness aside, you aren’t nearly the bastard Rebecca described you as.”

“ _Thanks._ ” Nathaniel fights not to roll his eyes. “And Rebecca told me what happens to people who don’t follow your instructions. At least you asked nicely.”

“Good.” Valencia beams. “You know, it’s nice not to  _have_ to be a complete bitch all the time, but I kind of miss the aura. It set the right mood when people are terrified of you.”

“Things do get done faster,” Nathaniel agrees. “I still try to make an effort sometimes, but it doesn’t pay off the same way anymore. Everyone’s too used to me.”

Valencia pats him on the shoulder in mock sympathy. “Well, in honor of being petty and trying to reclaim our past selves, let’s give our girlfriends a good hello; I think I can hear them.”

Nathaniel tucks his phone away as, true to Valencia’s prediction, a great rubber tube raft comes spinning gently under the pedestrian bridge into their sight, Rebecca and Beth’s shrieks of laughter preceding them.

“There they are!” gushes Valencia, jumping off the bench, waving, holding her phone aloft to catch a better angle; Nathaniel follows, walking up to the fence. Both women look up and wave right back to Valencia, still giggling even on this calmer stretch. They are the only ones in the raft, and surprisingly, don’t look like they’ve been splashed too much.

“Quick, Nathaniel, quarters!” orders Valencia, gesturing towards the water cannons urgently.

“What? Isn’t this your idea?”

“My hands are busy right now, and you’re the loaded boyfriend. It’s not like a few quarters will make a difference.”

“Amazing,” Nathaniel mutters, fishing a few coins out of his pocket and plugging them into the water soakers.

Beth figures out what they are doing before Rebecca does.

“ _Valencia!_ ” she shouts, minutes before the first jet of water erupts into the air, and showers down upon them. A second jet shortly follows.

Both women get drenched, and start shouting threats between breaths of laughter, Rebecca actually standing up on the raft before Beth pulls her down as they drift further down the river and fall out of sight.

“Perfect timing,” says Valencia with approval, stopping the recording.

“Rebecca is not going to be happy,” observes Nathaniel, not particularly troubled by the fact.

“Ew, don’t sound so interested,” says Valencia, wrinkling her nose. “Come on, let’s go meet them.”

They head over to wait at the large sign that marks the ride’s exit; shortly after, Rebecca and Beth emerge from the exit.

“For the record, you  _both_  suck,” Rebecca proclaims, throwing out her arms dramatically, casting a faint shower of drops on anyone within her immediate radius. Beth nods vigorously in agreement, pushing her dripping bangs out of her eyes.

“This is payback for dragging you guys onto Drop Tower, isn’t it?” Beth asks Valencia.

“Of course not,” Valencia insists, eyes wide. “What’s a little water compared to a twenty-two story drop?”

“Hey, I know you were disappointed about the water park,” says Nathaniel, shrugging, not bothering to hide his smirk. “I wanted to give you the kind of experience you were expecting.”

“How sweet of you,” drawls Rebecca, scowling. After a moment, however, a similar smirk slides across her face.

“So sweet, in fact, I could just  _kiss_  you. Beth, don’t you feel like you could kiss Valencia right now?”

“I’m not opposed,” says Beth, folding her arms, eyeing Valencia with a glint in her eyes.

“You are not coming near me,” Nathaniel says to Rebecca, starting to back away. “Not until you hit the showers. You’re probably crawling with bacteria.”

“Oh Nathaniel, don’t be so germophobic; humans are nothing  _but_  colonies of bacteria, didn’t you know? It’s totally natural, you should read some of the literature on it. Now  _hold still_.”

“You too, Valencia,” says Beth.

“We did not think this through,” Nathaniel says to Valencia.

“Just shut up and run.”

They take off, their soaked girlfriends hot on their heels.


	5. whijo & nathaniel - another soulmate au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being soulmates doesn't guarantee a life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An AU of the club scene in 3.09

The alcohol burns on the way down but hey, Whijo won’t complain, not when it is relaxing the coil of anxiety in the back of his skull, a restlessness to prove that he was fine, he was all right, that someone who he thought was his soulmate didn’t just dump him cold, that this plan they had of finding someone for the night to forget is just,  _definitely_  not going to work out.

His soul mark is only loosely covered by his wristband—if it rides up, whatever, he’ll survive others seeing it, he’s the one who wants to avoid looking at it right now. It’s Nathaniel who is cagey about his own—it’s under the wide band of his watch, which he keeps strapped on tightly at all times.

White Josh only sees it by accident. One of the circle-dancing girls appropriating this space trips into them, and her pink cocktail splatters across Nathaniel’s right sleeve. When he takes the watch off to check for damages, Whijo glimpses three blood-red roses in a tight cluster, thorns and all.

Nathaniel catches him looking.

“Dumb, isn’t it?” he asks, smiling tightly, strapping the watch back on, pulling the band tight enough that the veins stand out along his arm.

“It is what it is,” says Whijo, taking a swig from his beer to avoid saying anything more. Roses are not uncommon—it’s why they are such a popular gift—but Nathaniel’s eggshell-thin sensitivity about his masculinity suddenly makes a lot more sense. He might have never met Plimpton Senior personally, but he doubts that the man would ever see a soulmark like that as anything but shameful.

“It’s ridiculous,” says Nathaniel, without needing any further prompting. “The person you’re supposed to be with will have a matching mark. What, how many millions of people in the world is that? What are the odds you end up in the same nothing town?”

“Probably the same as getting dumped by them,” says Whijo bitterly. The simple white dove across his own wrist keeps mocking him, even while hidden. Doves that meant peace, meant pairs.

Before Darryl, life had been smooth and uneventful, even zen, though Whijo was never one for the kind of SoCal pseudo-spiritualism that subscribed personality traits to specific soul marks. Darryl in particular is so unlike the traditional character of a peaceful dove as to make the conceit laughable. But he is also one of the few people Whijo knows who deliberately leave off their wristband, utterly willing to let himself be vulnerable. It was one of the first of Darryl’s many qualities to catch his attention, to let him feel a prickle of recognition, and it’s one of the multitude of reasons he still can’t quite believe it’s over, even now.

People don’t always end up with their soulmates, he knows. They never look, or settle with someone whose marks are similar enough that it’s essentially the same thing.

Theoretically, then, the reverse is true: it’s entirely possible to find your soulmate, but still not end up together. But who expects  _that?_


	6. valencia - bitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt "bitter"

Valencia learned early how to let go.

It started with her name: it wasn’t that she hated the name Maria, given by her parents to honor a late aunt, but it didn’t fit her. Who she could be. She knew what that looked like—three other girls in her grade carried it far better than she did.

And it had such an ugly meaning:  _bitter_.

‘Valencia’ was sucha better name: romantic, a history in Spain, and still a family name; she wouldn’t stick out by taking it.

Most importantly, it meant  _brave_.

What could be braver than changing yourself?


	7. gurl group - a kiss for necessity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt _a kiss of necessity_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kiss is paula/darryl. The fic is gurl group-themed. The horror is real.

It turns out that Paula keeps a toothbrush at the office.

Rebecca isn’t surprised she missed this detail, per se, but given the specific circumstances that led to this discovery, she would have been happy never to find out.

“You sure you’re okay, Paula?” she asks, a little warily, keeping out of water splatter range.

“I’m fine, we knew what we were doing,” says Paula stonily. “And I have definitely had worse. But eugh.”

She resumes brushing. Rebecca shares a glance with Heather and Valencia, who have similarly pinched expressions. ****

“Eugh’s right,” agrees Heather. “You didn’t use tongue, did you?”

Paula doesn’t answer, gargling and rinsing before straightening back up to peer intently at herself in the bathroom mirror.

“No, nope, still no good,” she says, applying another squeeze of toothpaste to the brush and applying it diligently, this time sticking out her tongue to scrub at it.

Rebecca watches the proceedings with some concern, which is infinitely preferable to her earlier nausea.

“I mean, you guys were distracting. And you got what you needed to get the hotel to drop the suit,” says Valencia, a little too brightly, looking to Rebecca and Heather for support. “So at least it wasn’t for nothing?”

“But at what cost?” asks Rebecca. “I mean, I love Darryl. I trust Darryl. I donated an egg to Darryl. I would absolutely not make out with Darryl. He’s like a weird, actually decent uncle-slash-father-slash-nephew-figure. I just couldn’t.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” says Paula, her words a little garbled around her toothbrush. “The garlic chicken parmesan was the real problem; they went  _way_  too strong on the garlic-to-chicken ratio.”

“Bleck,” says Heather.

“Nope nope nope,” mutters Rebecca, squeezing her eyes shut. “I did not need to know that.”

“Should I pick up some mouthwash?” Valencia asks Paula, who shoots her a grateful look from the mirror.

“Please,” she says around a mouthful of foam. Valencia nods, grabs her purse off the sink and marches right out the bathroom door.

“How is Darryl holding up?” Heather asks Rebecca.

“Well, according to Nathaniel, he’s doing pretty much the same thing in the men’s room,” she says. “He also wants you know that he says he’s sorry again and if you think he should also apologize to Scott.”

“He didn’t need to apologize to me, I  _agreed_  to it,” grumbles Paula, brandishing her toothbrush into the mirror. “And why would he apologize to Scott? He didn’t kiss him! Tell him that there’s no need, that’s the background radiation of the patriarchy talking. Scott isn’t going to get jealous or anything.” She pauses. “Actually, he’s probably going to find this hilarious.”

She resumes brushing moodily.

Rebecca’s phone chimes with a new message. “This one’s just Nathaniel: he wants you to know that when he said get the client what they need by quote-unquote ‘whatever it takes’, he didn’t mean any action that would, quote-unquote, ‘traumatize half the office’.”

Paula rolls her eyes in the mirror.

Yet another chime.

“And there’s also going to be a staff meeting tomorrow,” Rebecca adds, frowning down at her phone. “Amazing.”

Paula throws her hands up, indignant.

“Wow, seriously? We’ve done  _way_  more questionable stuff for our clients.  _This_  is what he gets squeamish about?”

Heather just gives Paula a look through the mirror, arms crossed, eyebrows slightly lifted in reproach.

“Paula,” says Rebecca, placing her hand over her heard. “You know I love you and Darryl, and I think that you are both gorgeous people inside out. But believe me when I say that you guys making out was a thing that absolutely should not have  _ever_  happened, and should  _never_  happen again.”

Paula lets loose a muffled laugh from under the faucet.

“You guys are so overdramatic,” she says, turning off the tap and grabbing a paper towel. “It wasn’t bad! Darryl is a great kisser; I’m just not a fan of his mustache. Too bristly.”

Rebecca shudders. Heather isn’t blinking, her entire body rigid.

“Wow. No. We didn’t need to know that kind of detail, like, ever.” There’s a new ping on Heather’s phone; she unfolds one long arm to fish it out of her pocket. “Also, Valencia’s at the store and she wants to know if we need anything else.”

“Bleach,” says Rebecca immediately. “So we can drown ourselves in it.”

Heather frowns. “Yeah, no. That’s not gonna help. My eyes are already burning, and I don’t really wanna die.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” asks Rebecca pointedly as Heather taps out a reply. Paula just shakes her head.

“I don’t. I’m asking V.” There’s another ping. “She recommends lavender bath crystals. Something about soothing qualities.”

“How about something with memory-altering qualities?”

“ _Guys_ ,” says Paula.

“You need a different kind of crystal for that,” says Heather.

“Honestly, it’s like none of you have ever had to fake-out make-out before,” grumbles Paula, packing away her toothbrush.


	8. heather & nathaniel - drunkenomics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i actually wrote this before 4x06, but held off for a little bit. there is no rhyme or reason for this, I just thought it was funny. presume it takes place at some point in the future when Rebecca and Nathaniel are on speaking terms again.

Under ordinary circumstances, Rebecca would have never expected to see Nathaniel on his hands and knees near the bar in Home Base for anything less than a major earthquake.

“Looking for something important?” asked Rebecca, raising her eyebrows slightly, slinging her purse strap off onto the corner of the bar chair.

“Depends on what you consider important,” said Nathaniel, surprisingly without sarcasm. He got back up to his feet, brushing off the knees of his slacks, and leaned over the counter. “Heather, it’s not here. But my compliments to your staff; the floor is surprisingly clean.”

“Thank you for that vaguely insulting compliment,” said Heather, popping up from behind the bar. “It’s not back here either. Which means my thorough training program got our genius swept up and tossed in the dumpster after closing last night. Bummer.”

Nathaniel just signed and shook his head.

Rebecca crossed her arms, bemused. “Genius? What do you mean?”

“Just a napkin with some ideas,” said Nathaniel dismissively.

“Possibly a whole new ideology for production and exchange,” said Heather at the same time, prompting an eyeroll from Nathaniel.

“Heather and I were discussing economics last night,” he elaborated. “Only instead of wasting time arguing—”

“We decided everything was terrible and came up with the Plimpton-Davis model instead,” supplied Heather. “Except we kinda left our notes on the bar and now they’re missing.”

Rebecca scratched at her ear, wondering what she had misheard.

“I’m sorry. What did you guys do?”

“Made up our own economic system. I mean, it was pretty ambitious, but we’ve both taken several economic theory classes, so there were a lot of ideas to choose from.”

“I took Stanford economic classes,” said Nathaniel. “You said you dropped classes halfway through the semester.”

“Yeah, but I went way deeper into the subject than you did, so.”

Rebecca stared, flabbergasted.

Heather shrugged at the unasked question. “You heard me.”

“… _why?_ ”

This appeal was directed to Nathaniel.

“There might have been substantial quantities of alcohol involved,” said Nathaniel uncomfortably, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“We were  _hammered_ ,” agreed Heather. “So it was probably brilliant.”

“It was probably garbage,” corrected Nathaniel. “But it seemed logical at the time. We don’t actually remember what we wrote down. It could be the world’s saddest Venn Diagram.”

“Not that it matters,” said Heather. “Even if it’s a hot mess, I’m gonna, like, frame it and put it on the wall so that everyone can see it in all of its glory.”

“I’m sorry, hold that thought,” said Rebecca, holding up both hands. “My brain is still stuck on the fact that you two,” she pointed between them with an accusatory index finger, eyes narrowed, “got drunk and agreed on economic principles long enough to cobble together your own system? Despite having what I'm pretty sure are polar opposite viewpoints? And I  _missed it?_ ”

“We are exactly as surprised as you are,” said Nathaniel. “Which is why we were trying to figure out what we agreed on.”

“This is unbelievable.”

“Stick around; you might catch round two,” said Heather, as Nathaniel retook his seat at the bar. “Because at this point, that’s gonna be the only way we’re going to remember what we did.”

“I intend to.” Rebecca glared haughtily at between them, nostrils flaring, before turning sharply on her heel and making a beeline towards Paula’s booth to complain about her friends having intense adult conversations without her.

“Actually, could we not drink ourselves into a stupor tonight?” Nathaniel asked Heather. “I still have a headache from yesterday.”

Heather snickered. “That’s what she said.”

Nathaniel groaned but made no further protest, while from across Home Base, Rebecca just threw up her hands in disbelief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea what kind of economic system heather and nathaniel could come up with, but the idea of them doing so breaks my brain in a fun way.


	9. heather/valencia - femslash february day 8: confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a typical day in the life of reporter girlfriends at the Daily Planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for femslash february day 8 - confession

 

“Stop the presses!”

“No can do,” said Heather, looking around the side of her monitor as Valencia came striding triumphantly through the newsroom, cutting a line right to their adjoined desks. “We went digital last year, remember?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” admonished Valencia, slapping down her recorder on Heather’s desk. “My sources came through on Maddock’s surveillance tech. I almost have him right where I want him—I just need a confession.”

“Great. How are you going to get it?”

“Oh, nothing much. Just gonna head over to Maddock Corp in a few minutes.”

“Didn’t they stop answering your calls weeks ago?”

“It’s more like a spontaneous meeting,” said Valencia, a little too casually, piling up papers on her desk and tucking them into her messenger bag.

Heather, her feet propped up on the desk and looking for all the world like a bored accountant rather than the most powerful being in the solar system, peered over her glasses at Valencia.

“Are you going to throw yourself out of a window again?” she asked, unimpressed. “Because I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Valencia frowned defensively. “That only happened once,” she said, lowering her voice, though the usual hum of the Daily Planet newsroom was usually more than enough to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard.

Heather’s gaze didn’t falter. “I had to tell Kevin that I ran out of the debriefing because of bad kale.”

“You could have said you had a tip across town. He’d understand.”

“That would have taken too long. And it’s not even that you were tossed out of the building, like, cause that shit happens sometimes with supervillains. I totally get it. You jumped out a building more than twenty stories up, all the way across town, _expecting_ me to catch you.”

“And you did! My exposé on Luthor was published, your reputation with the public continues to be solid, and Maya got to write her human interest piece on the Blue Blaze’s new look. It was a win-win-win situation.”

Heather folded her arms over her chest, slinking further down in her seat. “Yeah, but you can like, still do that without intentionally putting your life in danger.”

“But I can do that _because_ you’re always paying attention,” countered Valencia, putting her hand on the back of Heather’s chair and leaning in for a kiss. “That’s why we make such a good team. And you’d hate it if I didn’t chase the story all the way through to the end, right?

The corner of Heather’s mouth turned up, despite herself.

“I guess. If that happened, that’d be like, sign number one that you were replaced by a pod person. Still, please don’t die and make me accept your Pulitzer for you posthumously. You know I hate public speaking.”

Valencia grinned. “Oh, trust me, that won’t happen. I’ve had that speech written for years; there is _no way_ I’m letting a little mortality prevent me from giving it.”

“Hm. Are you going alone? Or do you have backup?”

“I have backup. You remember Rebecca Bunch, right? The freelancer?”

Heather snorted and shook her head. “How can I forget? I had to pull her and that new cape out of that Plimpton Industries mess last month. She’s the second-biggest trouble magnet in Metropolis.”

“Well, I like her. She’s also the only one who works directly with Pink Proctor, and I need her intel to navigate through the building,” pointed out Valencia. “And trouble doesn’t find us—we go looking for it directly.”

“Excuse me for not really thinking that it makes a difference.” Despite her dry tone, Heather relented and tugged Valencia a little closer, draping one arm over her waist. “Besides, I like her, too. And Rebecca usually has good tips. She might be a good source when you start looking for your next story.”

“Good to know.” Valencia laughed and kissed Heather again, this time on the cheek, before gently pulling away. “Thank you for worrying. If everything goes smoothly, I’ll see you tonight. If not, wear the new tights, mkay? They’re supposed to cut down on wind resistance.”

“Already have them on. Good luck, have fun, and please avoid jumping out of a window.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. Save dinner for me.”

“Okay. I’ll just be here.”

Coat over her arm and materials in hand, Valencia gave a short wave before charging out of the room as quickly as she had entered it. Heather sighed and returned to her computer screen, tapping away on the keyboard, but always listening, just in case.

~

To their credit, that night Valencia Perez and Rebecca Bunch did avoid crashing through any windows in the Maddock Corp skyscraper while executing their late-night escape. But, as Valencia pointed out to her mildly irate girlfriend on their flight home, there had not been any clause about their not-Thelma-and-Louise-ing it.


End file.
